Smurfed without a Trace
by yinboo
Summary: Lalalalalalaaaa...sing a happy song!


**Chapter One**

A heavy fog rolled into the village earlier that morning, on the day that everything changed. The Smurf village - gray and miserable like a spoiled child awoken abruptly, stirs and sighs into motion with dragging feet and running noses all around. The little blue people assume their regular duties like on any other day; singing in rehearsed unison as they worked. _La laa lalalala, sing a happy song _:everybody, from the woodcutter's hut on the outskirts of the village to the bakery downtown mumbles, fumbles, jumbles, stumbles through the song's lyrics. It is that _song_ they have all known the lyrics to since times eternal, taught to them once as a means of celebrating life during times of great mirth, but now reduced to nothing more than a droning anthem of the feelings of sadness and quiet desperation shared evenly among the inhabitants of the Smurf Village. What could possibly be the cause of this great shift? You might ask. Well, should we eavesdrop on the spirited discussion going on at the village hall at this very moment, we might be able to acquire a valuable insight into the situation.

"Well I don't know about everyone else, but I'm sick and tired of these mother smurfing foreigners." The perennially disatisfied Grouchy spits from his platform. His outburst sends the crowd of civilians into an excited frenzy. Fellow council member Smurfette, however, with her distinct long blonde locks, shakes her head disapprovingly. "They're taking all of the valuable lumber and foodstuffs from the surrounding forests, inflating the value of these neccesary materials by unprecedented levels." He slams his fists against the podium ferociously. "If we allow the foreigners to continue to live on the outskirts of our fair city, it _will_ killus."

After taking a deep breath, Smurfette holds up her hands to try to calm the riot. "Smurfs, you can't just blame the outsiders for our troubles. They didn't bring this famine upon us after all. In fact, they're struggling as much as we are." There are a few mumbles of agreement from the crowd. Smurfette continues, with a little more confidence. "Instead of trying to isolate ourselves, we should all work together to find a system that can better sustain both the Yordles and the Smurfs during these hard times." She scans the faces of the Smurfs she is addressing, seeing a smile and a nod here, a frown and a misplaced chuckle there. It was as tough a crowd to please as always but she felt she might have left a dent.

"What measures do you believe should be put in place for such a system, then?" The white bearded Papa Smurf, sitting at a pedestal high above the others as chairman of the meeting, inquires sternly.

Smurfette felt nervous, being put on the spot like this but the crowd was growing restless so she had to come up with something. This had been her first time sharing an opinion on the controversial issue of managing the foreigners - an endearing subject at the council meetings known to be 'resolved' after adjournment by brutal pubfights, mob action and desperate acts of vigilantism. Truly this was a can of worms that not only she was afraid to open judging by the evasiveness of her council peers, like Clumsy and Smarty, who hadn't added to the discussion in a while. Grouchy glares at her from his podium, but since she already started, she would have to ignore the fluttering in her chest and press on.

"Well, I've known the foreigners for some time now. They're a friendly and resourceful people with a great knowledge of the forest." A displaced cough among the audience interrupts her for a moment, but then she continues, shakily. "I sincerely believe that drawing upon their talents to aid our burgeoning industrial sector through trade would be a boon unto us all." She looks at Papa Smurf anxiously. He smiles back at her warmly - as good a sign as any that she didn't totally screw up.

The rest of the meeting goes by in a whirl, with much of what was expected being brought to the table. There was the customary quick discussion about the roads budget - should they expand into the forest? Followed by a brief appraisal of the bulging industry and real estate development expenditure, a heated exchange pertaining to the shrinking stock of medicinal herbs and good quality lumber. It was all fairly predictable and of course, frequently interspersed by further talk of the foreigners, a topic which seemed to always descend upon these meetings like a malevolent black raincloud on an otherwise clear and sunny day in April.

Smurfette is exhausted by the time she has packed her things and exited the council hall, pushing through the throng of Smurfs to get to her car. She would like nothing better than to retreat to her toadstool with a cup of fresh nectar but a sudden hand on her shoulder is like a wrench being thrust into the Monday morning clockwork. She turns to see Grouchy peering down his nose looking at her as if she were a cactus growing in a potato garden.

"Just what do you plan to accomplish by sticking up for the foreigners?" He asks with irritation gnawing into the corners of his every word.

"I don't want to talk about this."

She turns to walk away but he grabs her by the elbow.

"You and I both know you aren't fit to make the decisions around here." He whispers into her ear. "I strongly urge you to withdraw from your position, before you get yourself in trouble."

Smurfette is at a loss for words - was that a threat? Before she could try to come up with a response Grouchy disappears back into the crowd and, like a cold breeze making way for a ray of sunshine, she is then approached by Papa Smurf.

"Papa!"

He pats her on the head. "You were great in there. I never knew you had such strong ideas about our foreign policy."

It is too much for Smurfette not to blush. "I've really gotten to know them, Papa. I have to believe there's a way to work this out peacefully."

He seems pleased by her response. "I share your sentiments." The stoic, hardened expression he wore during the council meetings has long since faded, replaced by his usual kind and open demeanor. "Maybe we can talk more about it over some pink nectar, my treat."

They arrange the meeting for later that evening, since Smurfette confessed to having important business to attend to that day. It made her feel glad, knowing she had an ally in her beliefs - the highest council of Smurf City no less. But what about Grouchy? He was a master at appealing to a crowd and was fervent in his distrust of the foreigners - the Yordles and, following that last encounter, it was evident that he was not above threatening those who would stand against him. The more she thought about it, the more Smurfette regretted opening her mouth in the first place.

But if she couldn't muster up the courage to fight Grouchy, who would?

Foreigners. Rapid industrial growth. Black clouds, and a fog that gets only denser as the day progresses. There was something ominous in the air and the Smurfs themselves could sense it; being as in tune with nature as they were. Yet, not knowing whether their peers could sense it too, they keep it locked within; buried beneath constant denial or simply dismissed as being the product of a bad mushroom consumed that morning. But, it did not feel like a storm was brewing. It did not _feel_ as though an earthquake was about to happen, or that a natural predator had picked up their scent - no, it felt like something else. It felt like something far darker; something supernaturally evil and hellbent on their annihilation.

"Gargomel." A petit voice says aloud far outside the boundaries of the Smurf City, yet able to sum up the sinister aura sensed by its inhabitants with just one word.

She is sitting at a shabby wooden table, surrounded on all sides by other members of the Megling Gunner Squad as well as the distinguished Captain Teemo of the Scout Corps. Tristana can hardly believe her eyes as she sets the most recent scout report down on the table - this was bad news, and it was all happening much faster than she had originally feared. Adjucants scramble and argue around her trying to come up with a countermeasure. However, they are swiftly silenced by the squirrel-like male Yordle with light brown fur standing at Tristana's right.

"Should we enhance our canopy defenses, Captain?" He asks, placing a gloved hand on her shoulder. She looks up, visibly distraught.

"Yes, and we need to warn the Smurfs about this." She rises from the chair, her white hair still glistening with dewdrops from drilling the new recruits that morning. "We need Smurfette."


End file.
